Who protects the protector?
by Lunedd
Summary: You remember the casual sentence Dean said to Bobby when they met him in S1E22? Something about Bobby giving John almost a buckshot. Well... There had to be a reason why the normally sober Bobby flipped like that. *g* Hurt!Dean, Protective!Bobby
1. Chapter 1

You remember the casual sentence Dean said to Bobby when they met him in S1E22? Something about Bobby giving John almost a buckshot. Well... There had to be a reason why the normally sober Bobby flipped like that. *g* Okay. Rated T to be sure. Spoilers for S1E18 (Something wicked). And I owe NOTHING of the show, it's all Kripke's. Man, you must be proud!

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Chapter 1

Now

They had arrived very late at the Singer Salvage Yard, dirty, tired and exhausted to death from the hunt. It should have been an easy one – simple salt-and-burn, but it didn't quite turn out that way. Winchester luck, as their father uses to say. There had been two, not just one spirit, and they had found the remains of only one of them on the abandoned cemetery. After the burning the second spirit manifested, evidently very pissed about the disappearance of his beloved one. It had thrown them around, beaten them up until John had the idea of tossing the tombstone down. And yes, there it was: a thin silver ring, which John told Sam to throw into the fire.

But the sixteen-year-old boy wasn't quite fast enough. He missed the catch, when his father threw the tiny ring, and had to fall to all fours to start searching it in the darkness only lit by the fire from the grave.

The spirit pushed John into the bushes of the grave next to him and rushed for Dean. It grabbed the boy by the throat, lifting him some inches into the air, draining his life-force from him.

Sam stared in shock at his older brother, the ring forgotten. Dean's face turned a pale shade of blue and he gasped for air, hands hanging limply at his sides, and then everything happened too fast for the youngest Winchester's eyes.

John had freed himself from the shrubs and drawn his sawed-off, pumping several loads of rocksalt into the spirit's ghostly form. It screamed in vain, a high, piercing sound and smashed Dean into the tossed tombstone before it gave in to the rocksalt dissolving his form. He then grabbed for the ring that lay next to Sam's hands and threw it into the fire, melting away within seconds in the fiery heat. He didn't shot a look at his youngest son, just rushed to Dean's side who was crumbled on the tombstone like a broken toy.

It turned out that Dean had hit the stone with his left temple, blood trickling slowly down into his firmly closed eye now that John had turned him carefully around, and it took the older hunter several minutes to wake his son, an anxious Sam standing a few yards away, too scared to move.

Dean's green eyes focused after a few moments of staring at his father, and he was able to get up on his own.

John steered the staggering boy to the car, not waiting for Sam nor even noticing if he followed. Sam darted forward and thrusted himself next to Dean onto the backseat, steadying his brother's slump form with an arm around the older one's shoulder.

They made it back in no time to Bobby's, who helped John supporting Dean on his way to the bed.

It was only then that John turned to his youngest, eyes cold as ice and a rumble in his voice: „We'll talk tomorrow." He left the room after assuring himself that Dean was fast asleep.

Sam climbed into his own bed, his slender form shaking from terror. He felt cold, so cold. _My first hunt, and I blew it completely. Please, Dean, be okay tomorrow._

***

Dean stirred and felt the drool from his open mouth drip onto his bare shoulder. He moved a still tired hand and wiped it away, opening his eyes.

When the bright sunlight hit directly through his orbs and pierced into his brain, he moaned and tightly shut them again.

_What happened? Where's Sammy?_

He forced his eyes open again and decided to ignore the pain that bit at his brain. _Just another concussion. Guess the hunt yesterday didn't work out so well._ He looked at the other bed, empty, the sheets crumbled, and rose slowly to his elbows. His mouth was terribly dry and he licked his cracked lips with his tongue only to notice that it didn't change anything. He was dressed in his jeans, boots lying next to the bed, the shirt neatly placed upon the chair.

_Sammy must be downstairs._

It was then when he realized that it were the loud voices from downstairs that had woken him in the first place. Dean frowned and carefully scrambled to his feet, slowly pulling the shirt from the chair over his head.

He tumbled down the stairs and found his father and brother in the living room, a few feet from each other, one's appearence mirrowing the other one's. They both stood, feet apart, shoulders hunched, fists clenched, staring at each other.

John's loud voice boomed through the room, and Dean kew instantly that his father was drunk. Again. „You almost got your brother killed!"

„I didn't want to go on that hunt! I don't want to hunt at all, and you know that!" Sam's voice was no less noisy, and the veins on his neck stood out.

Dean decided to let go of the wall which he had gripped to steady his still wobbly legs and was about to walk between the two men when John's hand shot forward, fast as a lightning, making contact with Sam's face, leaving instantly a bright red mark on the soft cheek of the teenager.

Dean now lunged forward, not caring about the room that seemed to dance before his eyes, and threw himself between the two. Sam had put a hand on the stinging mark on his cheek, staring shocked at his father who had never raised his hand before against him.

John strode on, fists clenched once more and ready to push Dean aside to get to his wayward son.

Dean turned around and shoved Sam into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

„Get outta my way, Dean", his father snarled, drunken eyes bored into his son's.

„Nope, Dad. You won't harm Sam. Guess you should lie down and get clear at first."

„Don't talk to me like that, son." John's voice was menacing now, the words blurred from the whisky he had poured down the whole night. „I have given you an order."

Dean swallowed hard, just about to give in, but Sam's desperate beating at the door make him set his jaw firmly. „No way. You never beat him again."

John moved forward, unexpectedly fast for a drunken man, and grabbed Dean at his collar, janking him away. „Do I have to teach you another lesson, son?" His voice was silent now, stripped of all emotions. And before Dean could react, John had punched him square in the face.

He felt his legs give way under him and dropped to his hands and knees, face burning from the blow, head once more screaming in pain. He felt bile rise in his mouth and swallowed hard to keep from the shame of throwing up.

His father's heavy booted foot made contact with his spine and send Dean face first into the dusty carpet, gasping astonished and in terror for he knew what would follow now. It hadn't happen for several years, but his body froze in shock as he heard the familiar sound of a belt yanked out of a jeans.

He yelped in pain as the first blow hit him square over his back, and Dean muffled his screams fast with his fists when he heard Sam shout worriedly his name from within the locked kitchen.

The slapping sound of the belt against his body turned into wet noise when the soft skin on his back cracked open, blood streaming freely and staining the belt, splashing his face.

Dean felt a tear pressing out of his firmly shut eyes and couldn't stiffle a whimper when his father's belt hit his neck. All of a sudden he was again ten years old, unable to move or get away from his father's rage. The best way to get it over with, as he had learned the hard way, was to just endure the beating.

John raised the belt again, red hot anger searing through his veins. He was so fed up, disgusted, he didn't even realize any more that it was Dean, _his own son_, lying in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey to you,

first of all thanks to all that made my story favorite or put it on story alert. That's so encouraging!

This one's about Bobby patching up Dean, and it's relatively short. Next one will be longer, and there will be more hurt!Dean, so stay tuned!

Please R&R! Thanks!

*****

A strong, rough hand caught his wrist just as he was about to bring it down once more, and yanked him around.

He stood face to face to Bobby Singer, who had a nauseated look in his bright eyes. „Get. The. Hell. Outta. My. House. NOW!" His voice trembled with held back emotions, anger and hate and shock whirling around in it.

John's shoulders slouched and he dropped the belt from his suddenly weak hand. Without a further word he turned and fled through the frontdoor.

Bobby dropped to his knees next to Dean who whimpered softly, almost inaudible. „Easy boy, he's gone now. Stay put, I wanna take a look at the blows first."

„S-Sammy..." Dean mumbled and pointed a shaken finger to the kitchen.

„Oh my god, John, you didn't..." Bobby rose and lunged for the door, almost being knocked down by Sam who darted out the instant the door was opened.

„DEAN!" He threw himself down next to his brother, sobbing carelessly. „That bastard! What did he do?" His voice squeaked.

„Sam, please go get some hot water and clean towels." Bobby knew he had to get the younger boy occupied to be able to take care of Dean. The older Winchester would never show his pain in front of his brother, and Bobby didn't want to put him in a situation that would compromize him.

„Damn it, John". Bobby hissed as he gently pulled the shreds from the shirt off Dean's torn back. The older hunter must have hit him at least ten or twelve times, counting the gashes in the skin. Bobby winced in sympathy as Dean clenched his teeth, making them grind. „It's o-okay, Bobby. Just give me a s-second." Dean's shaky voice was weak, filled with a pain he tried to suppress, and another wave of pity washed through Bobby. He had known that John wasn't too soft with his boys, but he had never seen him beat one of them so hard. His heart contracted as he saw the brave look in Dean's emerald eyes when Sam returned from the kitchen, spilling water from the bowl he held in his trembling hands. _John, you son-of-a-bitch, why did you put so much onto this kid's shoulders! _

He took the scissors Sam had brought wisely and carefully cut away the pieces of Dean's shirt, trying no to touch the wounds on his back.

„Dean, he'll be very sorry for that", bubbled out of Sam as he gently grabbed for a bloodspattered hand and squeezed it slightely.

Bobby felt Dean tension under his hands. „No! Sammy, you stay away from him! He was just drunk, he didn't know what he did. It's my fault, anyway."

The old hunter who had begun to clean the gashes on Dean's back stiffened as he heard the boy excuse his father. _Damn it, John, what did you do to him? You just beat the crap outta him, and he knows nothing else but to defend you. You just don't deserve him! _Bobby had to swallow down the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He had always wondered what it would have been like if Dean had been _his_ child, not John's. He couldn't have loved the kid more, especially since John had denied him his childhood, making him care for his brother, putting a burden onto the fragile shoulders of the four-year-old-boy that had been to much to bear for the kid. Bobby's heart had flown to the shy, mute kid with his long blonde hair and that deep green eyes that had seen too much for a boy of his age the first day John had appeared on his yard. Bobby then had noticed that John couldn't really stand the sight of his older boy, that he almost never looked at Dean's face, whereby he played and joked with Sammy until the baby happily laughed and chuckled. Bobby and Dean had made a fast bond, the four-year-old following the old hunter at every turn.

„No!" Sam almost screamed the word and looked startled at his brother as Dean winced with the intensity in the teenager's voice. „I mean – how could it have been your fault, Dean! He hit me, and you protected me! You did nothing to upset him! I- I never would have thought..." His voice faded, and new tears welled up in his hazel eyes.

„Okay, son, we now get you up so you can lie down onto the couch, you ready?" Bobby interrupted and stared at Sam to quieten him. Dean nodded into the carpet and couldn't help but yelp when he pushed himself up.

Sam and Bobby grabbed his arms and settled him gently onto the soft cushions. Dean buried his head in them when Bobby opened the bottle with the antiseptic agent. He worked fast, efficient, tightening his heart against the sucked-in breath and the small moans that espaced the cushion Dean had his face pressed firmly into, and nodded to Sam to put on the gauze bandages when he was finished.

Dean took in a deep breath when he felt the burning pain subside slowly. „Hey, dude, it looks worse than it is", he lied to Sam and strechted out a still trembling hand.

Sam cradled it in his and met his brother's gaze. „That wasn't the first time Dad hit you like this, right? I- I never made a connection to the streams on your back before, but now..." His voice broke once more, and he cleared his throat before he could go on. „He _did_ beat you, yeah?"

Dean bit his lower lip and looked musing at the teenager. He sighed. The intensity in Sam's hazel eyes seemed to tear down the walls he had build up since his father had laid a hand on him the first time. „Huh, you're right. But he never beat me without a reason, so I guess it was justified. I mean – we're not normal kids, right? One mistake, and people will die. He just made his point clear." He stopped and closed his eyes.

Bobby laid a big hand on Sam's shoulder. „I think you should get some fresh air now, son. And watch out if that father of your's is coming back. Dean should rest now."

At first, it seemed that Sam wanted to refuse the plea of the older man, but then he stood up abruptly and nodded, leaving the room without a further word.

The old hunter sat next to Dean. „First of all, Dean – this was so not _your_ fault. How could it be? You protected Sammy, right? So – what should ever be wrong about that!"

Dean didn't move, and Bobby was about to rise, inwardly cursing that frigging Winchester stubborness, when the boy finally opened his eyes again. „Nothing's wrong about protecting Sammy. That's my job. But – disobeying a direct order from Dad was. And so the beating was my fault." He clammed his eyes shut once more.

Bobby stared at him, wondering how a person could be so messed up in his head without ending in an asylum. _Oh, John, you really screwed that kid! _„If you wanna talk ´bout it, boy, go on." Bobby wasn't quite sure how to place the words and was about to let Dean rest, when the younger one opened his eyes again and fixed Bobby. „Please stay", he said in a small voice that broke Bobby's heart. „I didn't want Sammy to hear it, ´cause he would hate Dad afterwards..."

Bobby lowered himself down to the chair and felt the lump in his throat again, not sure what he had done to earn Dean's trust. He looked at the younger one as he started to speak, eyes directed at the past.


	3. Chapter 3

And on we go... :-) Thanks once more for your reviews! Please keep that up, so I know you're still with me... :-)

*****

Chapter 2

**Then**

Sammy was fast asleep in the one of the two small beds in the room next door, and Dean was watching TV, switching the channel bored every now and then. A silent _click!_ from the appartment's frontdoor made him jump from the couch the ten year old boy sat on and grab hastily for the sawn-off shotgun resting against the headpiece of the couch.

The door opened slowly, and John Winchester sneaked into the room, hairs tousled, his jacket torn at one shoulder, a big bloody streak squarely across his strong features. Dean relaxed and let go of the sawn-off. „Hi, Dad", he said and strolled over to the man, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. „How did the hunt go?"

John placed his duffle bag onto the table and stood for a moment, not reacting to the eager words from his eldest son.

„Dad?" Dean closed in another step and lifted a small hand, hovering inches above John's arm, not daring to touch the tensed man.

„Ah, Dean. It was – it was horrible." He couldn't hold back the words, and once they were out, he regretted placing them upon his son's heart. John turned face to face to Dean and pulled him into a tight embrace, his chin resting on the boy's long blonde hair. They stood for a long minute without moving, and finally John let go. „You should get a haircut", he ruffled through Dean's mane.

„Awww, Dad... in a few days maybe." Dean hated that word since his father played hairdresser then, cutting his hair in a terrible ugly way. The kids in school used to laugh at him, and whenever he had such a „treatment" by his father he pulled on his New York Rangers cap he had gotten from Uncle Bobby last birthday.

„You should go to bed now, dude." John patted the soft cheek of the boy and smiled at him with a sad look in his eyes. _If only I can protect my boys a little longer from what's out there in the dark..._

Dean slipped under the blanket and snuggled close to Sammy, with whom he shared a bed. It was only to his father's order that he did that, for he thought he was too big to still sleep with his baby brother, especially since the younger boy had grown through the last year and used to sleep with widespread limbs, leaving almost no place for Dean.

Listening to the familiar sounds of his father changing his clothes and taking a bottle of beer out of the refridgerator made him close his eyes, and within the wink of an eye he was fast asleep.

***

Dean stirred, still sleepy, and wondered what had waken him. His eyes wandered to the clock placed on the nightstand: 3:15. He blinked tiredly and yawned, tugging at the blanket that Sammy had drawn with himself when he had turned away from the older boy, leaving Dean uncovered and shivering, as he now noticed. But that hadn't waken him.

A strange sound came from the small living-room of the apartment, alerting Dean. Now broad awake he slowly withdrew from the bed and tiptoed towards the ajar door that separated the bedroom from the living-room.

Relief flooded his wiry frame as he realized that the sounds came from his father, but it lasted only a few seconds.

_Dad's crying?_ Dean couldn't believe that. After all, his father was a hero, right? And heroes never cried.

He sneaked to his father's side who sat slumped on the couch, face buried in his big hands. Dean stood in front of his father for a minute and finally decided to put a small hand on the man's shoulder.

„D-dad? Everything okay?"

John lifted his tearstained face and looked at his son with reddened, swollen eyes. „Oh, Dean. Why ya `wake?"

Dean wrinkled his nose at the cloud of alcohol that hit him. „Dad, come to bed, please."

Anger lit up in John's eyes and Dean withdrew a few inches. He realized that his father was dead drunk, and that scared him. He had never seen his father in such a state; sure, John wasn't shy to beer and whisky, but he never drank more than he could stand. Except for tonight. „Don't tell me whatttado!" He grabbed the long hair of his son and yanked a little bit at it.

Dean bit back the tears that threatened to shoot into his eyes from the stinging pain. „Ouch, Daddy, that hurts!" He yelped and tried to free his hair from his father's firm grip.

John frowned. „I'm gonna give ya a haircut now, boy." He stood up and dragged the wriggling boy with him to the tiny bathroom. He forced Dean to lower his head down into the sink by the pressure of his big hand on the boy's fragile neck and rummaged with his free hand through the washbag.

„Gotcha." He pulled the scissors out and started cutting Dean's hair, tearing hard at the strands. He once catched Dean's ear and caused the boy to scream in pain as the sharp blades cut through his soft skin, blood immidiately oozing from the small wound.

John slapped Dean hard across the back. „Don't move, jerk."

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes, out of pain and shame, and he bit his lower lip until his teeth left bloody marks in it.

It seemed like an eternity to him, but finally John let go of him, shoving him roughly aside that he tripped over his own feet and crashed hard against the toilet. John just gave him a disgusted sneer. „You shouldn't look like her. No-one should! But that I've taken care of now." He turned and left, leaving the trembling boy alone.

Dean dropped boneless against the toilet and sobbed silently, unable to hold back the tears anymore. He couldn't believe what his father had done to him, but when his eyes grazed the sink he saw the blond hair lying all around it. He lifted slowly his hands and touched his head, fumbling through his now short and spiky hair. New tears ran down his cheeks and Dean fought to stiffle the moans when he scrambled to his feet and sluggishly collected the cutten hair, throwing it into the dustbin.

When the last strand had vanished, he sneaked past the living-room where his father sat, downing another beer and staring at a picture. Dean didn't have to crane his neck to see who was on the photo. It was his mom, he knew, laughing at the invisible photographer, long blonde hair flying in an unfelt wind, her green eyes glistening happily.

Dean slid back under the covers and crouched close to Sammy, trying to catch a little of the smaller boy's sleep-heat. All of a sudden he was glad that he had to share a bed with his brother, searching the comforting presence of the six-year-old's fragile frame.

When he closed his eyes, he suddenly understood what his father had meant with his last words, remembering the picture in his father's hand.

He looked like his mom. That was why his father had gotten angry. It was _his_ fault that the man had cut his hair in such a rough way. _He_ had caused his father pain by simply looking like his mom. A lump formed in Dean's throat, and he silently swore to himself to do anything to never hurt his father that way again.

*****

A/N: Okay, that's it for today, folks! Now I'll watch the last 7 minutes of Sweden-USA. Don't know what I'm talking about? Dudes, it's HOCKEY TIME TONIGHT!! ;-) Go get fighting, Sweden!


	4. Chapter 4

Back from the long weekend, and ready for more wickedness... Spoilers for "Something wicked". NO wincest! Please R & R !

*****

Sammy had been a pain in the ass all day. He followed Dean at every turn, as usual, but all that Dean wanted today was being left alone. Damn, he couldn't even sit on the bed and read the newest issue of „Weekly World News" without Sammy sneaking up to him and tickling his feet.

It had started just after the boys had risen, Sammy following Dean into the bathroom, staring unbelieving at his changed brother. „What happened to your hair?"

Dean had shoved the smaller one roughly out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. „None of your business, jerk! The hair-fairy came last night, because I'm ten now and only babies and girls have long hair!"

He turned and stared into the mirror at the stranger that answered his gaze. His hair stood into all directions, and Dean reached for the styling gel his father used.

It took him more than ten minutes until he was satisfied with the result. His hair now only stood in the front, and the mass of gel he had rubbed into it had turned it dark, leaving no more resemblance with the long strands he had had before. Musing he stared at his emerald eyes, thinking of how he could change their color, and finally he sighed and put that thought aside, knowing it was futile.

He opened the door again and tickled Sammy a little bit, who had persevered in front of the door and now lunged at his hero brother, boxing him with his little fists.

Dean was so glad when Sammy's show came on TV, the Thundercats, which made the smaller boy literally freeze in front of the small TV screen.

He himself watched his father grab some things: weapons, flasks with holy water, his big machete and throw them into his duffle bag. He sighed inwardly. His father prepared for a hunt, and somehow Dean was at the same time disappointed and relieved. Disappointed, because that meant both he and Sammy were stuck in these filthy appartment rooms, nothing for company but the TV, and he had to _cook_ for his brother and endure the smaller one's tantrums about not being allowed to leave the appartment.

On the other hand, his father being gone meant that he didn't have to meet the man's eyes, to see the anger there about him looking like his mom.

He answered the questions his father asked him automatically, not really caring what came out of his mouth. He'd been through the drill for what seemed a million times – no picking up the phones, call Pastor Jim if Dad wasn't home after three days, lock the doors, windows, close the shades, shoot first, ask questions later. And, most important: watch out for Sammy.

His father laid his hands approvingly on Dean's shoulder, and the boy almost winced away from the touch. He disguised his discomfort with a small half-smile that obviously reassured his father, and locked the door behind the man when he left.

He turned round to Sammy, who was completely engulfed in the TV show.

***

Everything was a complete mess, and it was once again all _his_ fault. Just because he couldn't keep his stupid ass on the chair for frigging three days, he almost got his baby brother killed. Just what had he been thinking? _Dad knew about this, and he thought he had done it clear to me. And what did I do? Leave Sammy for some stupid videogame. _

Dean stood next to the frame of the door, his skinny back pressed against it for something to hold on, for he wasn't so sure his legs could carry him.

His father was cradling Sammy in his arms, pressing him tightly against the broad chest, and Sammy looked at him in sleepy confusion.

The shtriga was gone, leaving nothing behind but a rotten handprint on the windowsill, and a mess in Dean's heart. He had thought of himself as being a tough guy, something like Kid Rambo, and then he was too frightened to just pull the trigger when that witch was feeding on his baby brother.

His father had saved the day, being all the hero Dean longed to be, crashing the door open, blazing gun in hand...

This father that now looked up from the soft strands of his baby's hair and stared at Dean with bottomless void.

Dean inwardly shrank back from that, unable to move a muscle, watching his father comforting the small boy in his arms, placing him back beneath the sheets and tugging them neatly around his slender frame. Then he got up and grabbed Dean by the arm, pulling him out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him for not disturbing the sleep that came over his youngest son almost instantly again.

„So, Dean, tell me again, I think I must have been mistaken." His father's voice was calm, almost friendly. Dean didn't know how to judge that and carefully answered: „I-I was out, and when I came back, that thing was there." Tears burned in his eyes, but his father's look prevented him from sheding them.

„You know I have to teach you a lesson." John's voice was grave now, the words hanging heavily in the room. Dean nodded slowly, wondering how that lesson would look like in the middle of the night: another ten miles run? Lots of push-ups? Cleaning all his Dad's weapons?

His father grabbed him again by the upper arm, squeezing it tightly, reaching with the other hand for his duffle bag. Dean bit his lower lip and was dragged by his father's long stride outside the room, into the near shrubs next to their appartment.

„Here." His father gave him a twig, and he looked inquiring at the man. „Bite it. So you won't bite your tongue off." His father's voice was strapped of all emotions, and Dean felt sheer terror rise. He did as he was told and jerked at the sound of his father's belt being pulled out of his jeans, making a slithering sound that gave Dean goosebumps. _He won't – no, he-_

His father's big hand roughly pulled the shirt from his skinny body and draped it neatly across a branch. „Believe me, son", he said in a husky voice, „this is gonna hurt me more than you." He forced the boy to bent forward.

_Dad? No – NO!_


	5. Chapter 5

Back in the ring, dudes, and up for more! I know this is a really, REALLY short part, but I have the feeling the impact of what is happening is bigger when standing alone... Have fun! And don't be shy in reviewing... *s*

***

When the belt hit his back the first time, he opened his mouth and screamed rather of surprise than pain, dropping the mouth gag to the ground. His father lifted it up again and shoved it back into his mouth, making him retch at the dirt that now clung to it. „Be quiet! Or do you want to wake your brother?"

The belt hit him, and Dean's vision blurred as the pain kicked in. He knew that hot tears were running down freely his distorted face, but he swallowed all sounds that tried to break out of his throat, so Sammy wouldn't hear him.

"Don't – you – ever – leave – your – brother – alone – again." John's words bit as deep as the whips did, echoing like a mantra in Dean's brain. "Don't – you – ever – disobey – an – order – again."

Something was running warmly over his blazing back, and he only realized it was his own blood when his father threw the belt disgusted away into the darkness, grabbing the white towel from his duffle bag.

„Dean, Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't want to to that to you, but there was no other choice. I pray to all sentients in heaven that you never make me do this again." He reached for the twig in Dean's mouth and had to massage the boy's clenched jaws first before he could remove it.

Dean winced back from John's touch, and tears that had lingered in the hunter's eyes now welled up and dripped to his son's head. „God, Dean..."

He caught the skinny frame of his boy as the tension left the small body and settled him gently down onto the ground. Carefully, gently he dipped at the marks and gashes that his belt had grazed into the skin of Dean, and put some cream onto them afterwards, finally bandaging the boy's back. He lifted the limp boy up and cradled him in his arms, burying his wet face in the boys short hair, carrying him back into the house.

He packed their belongings the next morning at sunrise, and dropped the boys at Pastor Jim's, not without telling Dean that last night's lesson was of no-one's interest, just something between the two of them.

And then he went back longing to hunt the shtriga down.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, this is a longer one... And we're heading straight down the road towards the end. There's only one chap left after this. But don't worry! Next story's already finished... *grinning* I'd be glad if you'd join me there, too! Thanks!

***

Dean fell silent, not daring to look at Bobby when his face burned with the shame of failing and disappointing his father.

Bobby blinked, not able to move at first, the words of the boy settling down with a sour taste.

„That damn bastard" He finally hissed and rubbed a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted by Dean's confession. „Boy, why – just _why_ – did you never say a word to me? Or anyone else? It's never right to beat a child, _never_, you hear me?"

„Again, Bobby, we're not normal children, Sammy and me. And he never laid a hand on Sammy, I swear! It was always _me_ that made the mistakes." Dean smiled crookedly, having the odd feeling as if a heavy burden was taken from his shoulders.

„Yeah, sure." Bobby rolled his eyes. „_He _made the mistake to not drop you two off with some couple to grow up as kids, not little adults. And I tell you, I won't let him take you with him, I'll take care of that. Should have done that the first time he showed up with you two! You don't have to go back to him, if you don't want to."

Dean tensioned and fervently shook his head. „No, Bobby! There's no need for that."

„Right" Bobby said dryly and motioned with his chin towards the freshly bandaged back of Dean. "That's pretty obvious."

Sam burst into the room, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. „Dad's come back, and he looks really pissed!"

Bobby gestured the boys to stay inside and grabbed his scattergun. „You stay. I'll take care of that. Once and for now."

He went outside, blinking at the glaring sun that forced him to shadow his eyes.

John stood a few yards from the porch, hands stuffed into his jacket's pockets. „I'm here to take my boys, Bobby." His voice was loud and thundered.

Bobby pushed the shield of his greasy cap back and slowly shook his head. „I don't think you will do that, John. I can't even believe you have the guts to show up and pretend nothing has happened."

John growled and took a step towards the porch, only stopped by Bobby who raised the gun now. „I certainly do nothing like pretending, Bobby. I'm always acting for the best of the boys. Now, _please_ send them out to me." He lifted his empty hands and moved a step forward.

Bobby pressed his lips together. „You're such son-of-a-bitch, John. You just beat your kid bloody and dare say that was for his best? Ya' know, he's in there, Dean, finding excuses why you did that, he's not even mad at you – and that really _scares_ me. What else did you do to this boy, John, huh? Just how could you kill any self-respect in Dean? He doesn't deserve such a treatment, he's a fine boy!"

„Yes, I know that he is." John smiled. „That's why he's coming with me. And his brother, too."

Bobby cocked the weapon and aimed it at John. „Get away from my property. Now."

John froze, staring at the weapon. He slowly rose his empty hands and gradually walked backwards to his car. "Easy, Bobby. If you think that's maybe the best for now, fine. You got the gun. But believe me, I never wanted to hurt any of them – there just was no other choice. Besides, I don't have to justify my actions to you." His shoulders dropped a few inches, and Bobby lowered the gun in unison. "_No other choice_?! Who do you think you're fooling? This boy's done everything you always wanted – damn, he'd jump off a bridge if you just sniffed your nose! And what did he get? You beat him, 'cause you were too drunk to realize he did what you hammered into his head since he was a kid!"

"Bobby..."

"No more Bobby, please. Just go now." He lifted the gun once more and felt his heart beat so hard against his chest it almost hurt. He had thought he'd known the guy opposite to him, but that had obviously been a big mistake. And now that he looked into John's dark eyes that seemed bottomless he was _so_ tempted to just pull the trigger and pay him back all the pain he had caused the two boys now safe in Bobby's house.

"All right, all right, I'm leaving. But I tell you one thing, Bobby Singer: you can't hold them back if they don't want to. I know my kids." He turned on his heels and went to his car, leaving the yard with a big dusty cloud.

Bobby couldn't help but sigh. He knew deep in his heart that John was probably right, but still he felt he had stopped the deadly spiral John had drawn his boys into ever since the horrible death of their mother.

„BOBBY!" The despair in Sam's voice whirled the old hunter around, throwing the gun away, not caring if it could go off by the harsh treatment. He ran back into the living-room and came to a dead stop.

„Whatta ya think you're doin'?" He snarled at Dean, who had lifted his aching body from the couch.

„Dad needs me. I have to go. And there's no way you could hold me back." He agonizingly slow pulled the black shirt over his head and shoulders, barely stiffling a moan when his torn skin cracked open again on some spots. Bobby watched him helpless, angered. „You should really stay and let those slashes heal before you head after him," he tried and got into Dean's way.

„Thanks for the offer, Bobby, but I think I should be with Dad."

"And I don't think that would be a good idea just now. You're no help to him in the state you're in." When he saw that logic didn't get through to Dean, his voice became harsh and commanding. "You get back onto that couch now! You can go after him once you're better!"

Dean's eyes grew wide and he obeyed mutely, with Sam standing by his side, mouth wide open. Bobby had to turn away and barely made it into the kitchen, where he leaned heavy onto the sink, fighting the urge to retch. It had been the tone of _John_ he had thrown at the boy. He reached for the faucet and rinsed his mouth with the cool, clear water. By all Saints, who was he to judge John?! Pushing the same buttons that John had for the boy's whole life. And now he, Bobby, stood here, defending himself with the own very words that John had used only a few minutes ago: _It was just for Dean's best. _His vision blurred as the whisky he had drunk last night together with John rolled up in his stomach and he bent forward in time to spit it into the sink. _How come our lives are so screwed?_ He raised his head, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and resolutely shook his head. _No need to whine over spilled milk. Besides, if that demon-shit hadn't happened to any of us, we most certainly never would have met. _And not for the first time he wondered what life would have looked like if his wife hadn't been possessed, with him stabbing her down. They had talked about having kids, before – before the thing had happened. And all he now could think of was that he was glad no kid of his own had been forced to see it's mother being overtaken by a supernatural entity. _This won't lead to nothin'. _He jerked his head to the door.

Dean stood there, leaning against the frame, with a shy, careful look in his eyes. "Everything okay with you, Bobby?"

First, Bobby was tempted to unburden his heart to the younger one, but he refrained himself. _No need to add further shit on the boy's shoulders. _The older hunter shook his head, a sad expression on his face. „Just tell me why you not just send that father of yours to hell after what he did to you."

Dean froze. „He's my dad. All and everything he did was to protect us and to keep evil at bay. He always had a good reason for any of his actions."

„Boy, you can't be right in that head of yours!" Bobby barked and chided himself for that when Dean winced and unconsciously took on a defensive stance. _Great, Singer, doin' the same mistakes all over again. _

„I am. And if his methods are the only way to make things clear to me, then that works for me. If he had raised us the soft way, shooing every little ouchie we got over the years, we certainly never would have survived until today. He's my father, Bobby – I got no-one else left except for him and Sam. It's all about family and loyalty."

It was as if the younger one had slapped him right across the face. _I got no-one else left._ These words burned into Bobby and made his eyes suddenly sting. He wished he could move, he could grab that stubborn boy by his shoulders and shake him, shout at him and pull him into his arms all at once. _But I'm part of that family too, Dean! Family doesn't end with blood,_ his heart screamed at him. But, being the rough and tough Bobby Singer, he came up with nothing but a simple "Okay." He cleared his throat and continued, surprised that his voice sounded like a stranger's: "But please stay at least until your back is better. You don't want to scare Sammy to death again with your bloody back, will ya?!"

Dean hung his head and obviously weighed the facts. Then he nodded slowly, not looking up.


	7. Chapter 7

So, that's it... The last chapter! Hope you all enjoyed my story and come back for more (for there will be definitely more!) Thanks to all of you! You are wonderful! :-)

***

Bobby was standing in the kitchen, at the stove, and cooked. He didn't consider himself a first-class-cook, but he knew it was quite edible what he brought to the plates. The bacon was crispy now, and the scrambled eggs exactely as they should be. He hummed quietly to himself, grabbing two plates and placed the steaming meal onto them.

"Boys! Breakfast's ready!" He laid the turner down and grinned as he heard the stomping on the stairs. Dean darted in, followed by Sam.

"Yummi, that smells great!" Dean rubbed his hands and stared at Bobby. "Tell me you're not serious, dude!" He elbowed Sam, who looked up from his plate and started giggling. "Oh, Bobby, where did you get _this_ horrible thing from!?!"

Bobby lowered his head and scanned himself. His cheeks burned red hot when he realized he still had his old apron on with the stupid quote: Kiss the Cook!" written on it. "Yeah, sure I'm serious!" He winked with his eyelashes. "Of course you will have to do what's on the apron, 'cause my breakfast tastes so good!"

"Yaks." Sam shook himself and pushed the plate away. "No more meals from you for me!"

They laughed, and when silence set in, Dean cleared his throat, laying the fork neatly down next to his empty plate. "Bobby, we're leaving today."

Bobby pressed his lips together and nodded curtly. He had known that that moment was about to come, but so soon startled him. It was only the second day since he had chased John off his property, and looking now at Dean's determined face he knew that he had stayed for Bobby's sake, and nothing else.

"Guess I can't convince you otherwise." He said silently and knitted his fingers.

"No." When Dean was sure of something, he never needed many words. "He's our dad, and we should be with him. We've been seperated long enough, Bobby."

God, he _so_ wished back the times the boy had called him _Uncle Bobby_. It had made him feel like a real member of the family, not just like being _Bobby_. His heart clenched with the painful and futile longing to hear it again, just once, oh, please, _just once_.

Meeting Dean's green eyes with his, he knew with a feeling of loss that it would never happen again. Nothing could turn back the time, no matter how hard you tried.

"Well, then... Tell your dad that if this happens again, I'll hunt his ass down and take his head as a trophy. And," he added when Dean nodded albeit not really convincing, "take these." He threw a set of keys to Sam. The boy took it and smiled. "Thanks for the car, Bobby. We'll leave a message where we park it as soon as we meet up with Dad."

"I know." Bobby was taken abash by his husky voice. "Watch out for you, boy." He said to Dean as the older Winchester stood up, grabbed the key from Sam's hands and patted Bobby's shoulder for good-bye.

Sam lingered a few moments and waited until Dean dissapeared in the yard. His teeth were clenched and he opened and closed his fists rhythmically. „I couldn't hold him back, Bobby, he didn't want to listen to me. I don't know what's going on in his mind! I'm so fed up with all this! Listen, Bobby. I have to go with him, but I- I think I know a way to get away from all this. I'm pretty good at school, and I'll try to get a scholarship for college. I just don't know how much longer I can stand it! I only want to have a normal live, and not always be the new freak at school." He turned and fled, before Bobby could see the tears well up in his eyes.

Bobby stood in the empty yard, watching the dust clouds spreading into thin air as the car sped off. _I just don't want any of you to get hurt beyond healing, but I don't know how to do that._ He ran a hand down his tired face. „But Sammy, if you leave Dean", he whispered into the emptiness that reflected the one in his heart, „then who protects the protector?"


End file.
